


The Jewel on His Crown

by Lumelle



Series: Contractual Obligations [8]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Arguing, Family Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrór is not happy with Thorin' s choice of a partner, especially now that the hobbit has made his way to the Halls. However, Thorin will not back down, and Thráin is prepared to speak up in defense of his son's happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jewel on His Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, I had to address the matter of Thorin's family.
> 
> (For the curious, Kivi means "stone" in Finnish. Since we have precisely one sample of names for female dwarves, I decided to have some fun with suitable-sounding words.)

For all that he had heard the buzz, the only sight Thráin caught of the much-talked hobbit was a glimpse before Kivi whisked him away, doubtless somewhere out of earshot, if he knew his wife at all. She had always been most practical, and knew better than to let their poor guest hear the argument that was doubtless about to unfold. It was going to be a bad one, he could tell that just looking at the way his father and older son were eyeing each other. Perhaps, he mused, the worst one.

It was probably a good thing Thráin had just been showing his latest work to his father, or he wouldn't have been there when the word arrived. Not that there had been much he could do, not with Thrór immediately working himself up into a state, but at least he had managed to calm him down marginally on the way to their family's halls. Enough so that Thrór hadn't been yelling the moment he walked in. That had to be an achievement.

Sadly, tempers weren't in short supply in this family. The two only bothered to fume and glare for a moment before the words burst out.

"I can't believe this!" Thrór roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "It's bad enough that you've spent all your days sighing after some beardless lad, but now you've actually brought him here!"

"I didn't bring him here, he came quite of his own accord," Thorin replied, gritting his teeth. "And he's not a lad, he's a grown adult. It's just rare for hobbits to grow beards, regardless of their age."

"As though that matters at all!" Thrór marched right up to Thorin, thunder in his voice and fire in his eyes. "You can't possibly plan to stand him by your side."

"That's precisely where I will have him," Thorin growled in response. "Were he willing, I will wed him before the eyes of Durin himself, that we will never be parted again."

"Travesty! That will not come to pass." Thrór seethed. "I will not suffer this to happen."

"And what would you do? Tear my heart out? Even that would not stop me loving him."

"I will speak with the Fathers." And, yes, that was the proud king who had brought them to ruin, unable to ever bow his head. "If you would claim him so, you will not do so while wearing a crown of Erebor." Thráin had to admit, for all of Thrór's pride he was startled to hear such a threat. For all that crowns brought little power in this place where even the most ancient of kings stood tall among them, they were still only permitted for those with legitimate claim, and to be stripped of it would have been as good as denial of ever having stood to any importance.

"So be it." Thorin straightened himself, his gaze not wavering for a moment. "If it was the crown or the Master Hobbit, I would cast such trinkets aside without a thought."

Thráin had never seen his son step up to the throne, hadn't even seen him take up the name of the crown prince with all the rightful glory that should have been his. For all his pains and sacrifices in reclaiming Erebor, Thorin had only ever been crowned in the Halls, an acknowledgment of his worth rather than his status. Yet for all the decades they had shared in this timeless mountain, for all the times he had seen Thorin proudly bear the crown that sat upon his brow, he had never seen him look quite as much like a true king as when he announced he would cast it all aside for what he held most dear.

Thrór saw it too, he must have done, by the way he stepped back. "What are you speaking of?" he hissed. "How could you even consider that? You are a king of Durin's line!"

"Yes, I am," Thorin replied. "And believe me, I did more to earn my place under the mountain than you ever did, worm-tempter. Blazes, Fíli did more than that, and he never was crowned and never will be. But for all that I did to claim Erebor as mine, it wasn't until on my deathbed that I realized what truly was precious to me." Despite his vicious words his tone was soft, his eyes looking somewhere beyond either of them, beyond the cold stone walls of the room. "I am of Durin's folk and Durin's line, descended from Durin the Deathless, whom Mahal shaped with his own hands. As such, would I not bring shame to all my forefathers if I did not hold on to my most precious treasure now that I have finally laid claim to it?"

"Is that your final word?" Thráin still wasn't sure he should take part in the conversation, but Thrór seemed struck mute for the moment, with shock or rage, he wasn't sure. "You would choose your hobbit before your crown and title?"

Thorin turned to look at him, now, and there was sorrow and pride the likes he had never seen in his son's gaze before, not even when he had first recounted the loss and triumph of the Battle of Five Armies. "He is my One, Adad," Thorin said. "He is the one I was shaped for before I ever left my mother's womb. I cast him aside once, and that is not a mistake I will repeat, no matter what the price I must pay for that."

"Well. I suppose that is it, then." He managed a small smile, touching his son's shoulder. "I wish you all the happiness, as I have ever done." All the happiness that should have been his in life, had Thráin not failed as he did.

"What are you saying?" Apparently that was enough to startle Thrór back into speaking, again. "You can't possibly approve of this!"

"I was raised to honor the love any dwarf might hold for their One, however unsuitable the match may seem," Thráin replied. "I did not judge when Dís set her heart on a mere musician, and I certainly will not do so now. If he says this hobbit is his One, I will take him on his word, and wish them all the happiness they might find in these halls."

"But he's not even a dwarf!" Because clearly they had not noticed that yet. "I will not allow this!"

"I think you forget, Adad, as you often do," Thráin said, and oh, how difficult it still was to say these words, for all that he had seen his father's madness and shame all those years ago. "You are not the sole King Under the Mountain, anymore. Your word does not go over mine, nor does it go over Thorin's. None of us hold the throne, and for all that we may bear crowns, there are countless others who do so as well. Unless you suppose to go before Durin's throne and plead your grievance with him, there is none who can give actual protest to Thorin's choice of beloved."

"But how could this be his One? Do you truly mean to say Mahal meant for some beardless child be the other half of a dwarf of Durin?"

"I do not claim to know Mahal's ways." He was not arrogant enough for that. All such pride had been well and truly driven out of him in his years of pain and despair. "However, I also do not believe any would be able to cross here without Mahal's blessing, however light their feet and cunning their minds. If the hobbit is here, clearly he has Mahal's approval, and I would not hope to contest our maker's judgment of the worth of any creature, bearded or no."

Thrór was silent. Though then, there was not much he could say to such claims.

"My mother was but a simple blacksmith," Thráin added, his voice low. "I've heard enough to know not all were happy with your claim of a mate, yet none wished to contest it, because clearly if you thought her your One it was Mahal's will that you come together. Please, do not bring shame to the love that bore me by claiming my son has chosen his poorly."

Thrór made a sound that might have been the start of a protest, but then fell silent again. Instead of speaking further, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room. Thráin waited until he was definitely out of earshot, then sighed.

"He will come around in time," he murmured, touching his son's shoulder lightly as they both looked after the old king. "He knows he can't argue with what I said, but his pride won't allow him to say it. Doubtless he will show up once his anger has died down, acting as though he never had a protest against your choice, and expect us to pretend likewise."

"I'll be happy to spare his childish pride if that means he won't say such things when Bilbo is there." Thorin sighed. "It's going to be hard enough for him as it is, coming here to stand beside me with all his kith and kin left behind."

"Don't worry. Your mother clearly approves of him, as does your Company. If anyone tries to give him grief, they will be quickly set to rights." Thráin allowed his lips to twitch. "Even before you present him with that little knife you have been working on."

"He can be surprisingly handy with a blade for such a gentle creature." Thorin paused, not quite looking at him. "…Thank you. For speaking up against him."

"You would have accomplished the same. I merely did not want to sit silent and let my father think I might agree with him."

"Even so. You disagreed with your father for my sake. I would not have blamed you for standing aside."

"I could not defend Erebor when the worm came and destroyed all we held dear," Thráin said, unable to keep the regret from his voice. "I could not reclaim Khazad-Dûm so that you might carve your happiness there instead. Nor could I even bring back what should have been our home all along, leaving that battle and that death to my son. If I stood for your happiness this one time, it has come but two lifetimes too late."

"This is the happiness that matters, though." And there was the determined look again. "As I said, I will not cast him aside again."

"Good. When you find your One… nothing compares to that." He certainly knew of nothing he might have held as dear as Kivi.

"I just wish I had realized that in time." Thorin shook his head. "Perhaps, if I had not been so foolish, things would have gone differently. Perhaps I could have had him by my side in life."

"I know, son. I wish you could have had that, too." He squeezed Thorin's shoulder. "But whatever happened, he has now made his way here against all odds. That must mean Mahal has given his blessing for your union."

"Do you truly think that's true?"

"I'm certain." And he wasn't simply saying it to assure his son; it was his actual opinion. "If he is here, it must be Mahal's will that you get your second chance."

"Then it's all the more important that I do not waste it." Thorin drew a deep breath. "Right. I should probably go speak with Bilbo."

"That might be for the best." Thráin paused. "I suspect the word of his arrival has reached your brother by now, particularly if Fíli and Kíli have been at work."

"I would presume so." Thorin gave him a wry smile. "I can only hope mother and Frerin have not made him reconsider his decision to court into the family."

"Only one way to find out." Thráin managed a chuckle. "Don't worry, if he could tolerate you enough to come all the way here, I don't think even our dear family can scare him off."

"I'd rather hope so, since he cannot exactly go back on his decision." And he did know his son well enough to know the hint of guilt in his eyes.

"It will be fine, son." And he did believe that. He had to believe that, for Thorin's sake, and for the sake of the longing he had been watching for decades without knowing how to comfort his son.

And now, he would at last get to properly meet the little creature who had chased away all that longing and regret simply by his arrival.

Surely, Thorin could have found nothing more precious than that.


End file.
